


the loneliness and the scream

by adreamaloud, daneorange (adreamaloud)



Series: clexa eternal au [2]
Category: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/adreamaloud, https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/daneorange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many years later, and perhaps another chance. Lexa, Clarke, an island and a slate wiped clean. Follows 'your ex-lover is dead'. An Eternal Sunshine AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the loneliness and the scream

**Author's Note:**

> fell down, found love –  
> I can lose it again  
> –frightened rabbit, the loneliness & the scream

 

 

When it ends with Natasha, Lexa does what she does best – she packs up her bags and moves to another city. She takes only what she’s brought with her all along, leaving behind all the others: Clothes and books she bought with Natasha, mostly; all the other little reminders of the life she once knew. The house they have made, the garden she helped grow.

On the day she leaves, Lexa looks at their backyard one last time and lets a small tear fall.

Everything had always been Natasha’s, and Lexa wonders how she ever thought she’d be able to keep a good thing going.

*

_Senior year is hot, and Lexa spends it mostly in a daze, going from deadline to deadline -- and Clarke. Always, of course, there’s Clarke, who spends most of her time holed up with Lexa in her apartment, alternating between her drafts and Lexa’s bed in the corner, which Lexa decides to keep, after all._

_“Are we having a proper bed anytime soon?” Clarke asks, and Lexa tries to hide her smile at the word ‘we.’ “I mean, I suppose it has its Spartan appeal, but.”_

_Lexa pretends to keep scribbling on her notebook, tapping on her calculator idly. “But what?” she asks, watching Clarke pace with a pencil in hand. Clarke likes to draw with her papers stuck to the wall with tape, and Lexa often watches from the bed, flanked by her laptop and her books and cheat sheets._

_Clarke looks over her shoulder, smiling. “Don’t you want a proper bed? With frames. A bed that’s not just a mattress on the floor.”_

_“I’m not sure if I’m going to be in this apartment for long,” says Lexa. “A bed with a frame will be a pain to move.”_

_Clarke moves closer to the wall and takes a moment to fill in a few small details. Lexa likes watching her work; likes staring at the way the muscles of Clarke’s shoulder move when she’s focused. “But I like this room,” she says, pouting as she makes her way back to Lexa, pencil discarded on the floor._

_“Watch the books,” Lexa says, smiling._ God, how am I ever going to get anything done here? _“It’s just a room.”_

 _“It has_ this _,” Clarke whispers, dipping down to kiss Lexa briefly, hand braced against the wall behind her –_ Clarke’s mural, _Lexa thinks. They’d moved the bed so they could wake up close to it, though in the beginning, Lexa thought it was quite narcissistic of Clarke to want to fuck so near her work of art._

_How Clarke had laughed._

_Lexa looks up as Clarke straddles her, carefully shutting her books and collecting her papers. Lexa closes her laptop with a sigh –_ God I hope I remembered to save that spreadsheet – _before letting her hands settle on Clarke’s waist. “This bed does the job just fine, don’t you think?” she asks, nipping at Clarke’s throat; she can feel the skin vibrate when Clarke laughs._

 _“When we graduate we’d get a bigger one, hmm?” Clarke says, and Lexa just nods, going lower, licking along Clarke’s clavicle and enjoying the shiver there. “You’d be a hotshot VP for Finance, and I’d be running my own architectural firm, and we’d have a huge bedroom with a proper bed.” And then, another shiver: “With a_ headboard. _”_

Now aren’t you full of bad ideas. _Lexa smiles as she undoes a button slowly, and Clarke squirms on her lap, sighing. “Whatever you want, Clarke,” she says, eyes focused on the skin she’s slowly unveiling. “You can paint on all the walls, too.”_

_“I love you.”_

_Lexa licks lower at Clarke’s sternum. “Love you,” she whispers, hand sliding underneath the waistband of Clarke’s shorts. “Whatever we want.”_

*

Lexa sighs as she looks at the flight information panel, blinking as the details flip from one minute to the next. For the first time in god knows how long, she’s standing in this airport and not rushing. _Maybe it’s about time to take time,_ she tells herself scanning the board for a flight.

She’s thinking: _Maybe somewhere near the ocean._ She’s thinking: _Maybe somewhere with a lot of sun._

When she decides, she does so with an eye closed; she buys a ticket and waits at the gate. Lexa has been in this airport far too many times – her job has taken her out of town more times than she cares to count – but sitting right there without a return ticket, Lexa feels untethered, unmoored; for the first time, afraid.

 _Don’t be silly,_ she tells herself. _It’s just a ride._

*

_Clarke dislikes airports, but she goes to see Lexa off anyway on her work trips, the first few times._

_“You just got here Tuesday,” Clarke says in her studied monotone. “How do people decide who to deploy when and where?”_

_Lexa sighs, shrugging. “You don’t have a choice when you’re new,” she says. “We’ve been through this. I_ want _to get this right.”_

 _“And I_ want _to spend a whole week with you, for once.”_

_“Don’t be so dramatic,” Lexa says, trying to lean in to kiss Clarke’s cheek, but Clarke turns away. Lexa inhales sharply at the rejection; not the first time, but every time hurts like a fucker. “I’ll be back Saturday night.”_

_“And out again Monday morning,” Clarke deadpans._

_“Clarke.”_

_Clarke keeps her eye on Lexa’s shoes. “You should go,” she says. “I should probably head back – finish my plates due tomorrow.”_

_“Okay.” And then, off Clarke’s silence: “I love you.”_

_Clarke looks up at that, at least, but she looks at Lexa so sadly Lexa wishes she had not looked at_ all. _“Be safe,” Clarke says, before turning back around._

_*_

_They reach an uneasy truce, after a few months. Clarke decides to stop going to the airport, and Lexa makes sure to return home with presents._

_The sex is scarce, but always frantic – like Clarke is always thinking that Lexa is leaving. “It’s like I never know with you,” says Clarke after, one night Lexa gets back from a five-day trip. “When are you going next?”_

_Lexa sighs, fingers fiddling with Clarke’s hair. It pains her to have to tell Clarke that she doesn’t know. “I’m here now,” she says instead. “This still counts, right?”_

_“Of course it does,” Clarke says, fingertips circling the spot just above Lexa’s heart. “I just—some nights, I want to talk to someone, you know? And you’re not here.”_

_“Call me, then.”_

_Clarke shakes her head, shifting to turn away from Lexa. “You’re missing the point.”_

_*_

The flight takes too long to board, and Lexa taps her shoe impatiently against the airport floor. It makes her wish she packed one of Natasha’s books – one of those notoriously long ones. _Maybe an Atwood,_ she thinks, though she knows Natasha would never forgive her for taking _The Blind Assassin_.

She finds herself smiling bitterly at the phrase: _Never forgive._ Lexa knows taking the Atwood would have been the _last_ thing she would have had to worry about.

Lexa loses Natasha the way she lost Clarke – in splinters. It was doomed from the start, or so Lexa sadly thinks; it’s the shade of her hair that did it. _Don’t we all fall in love with semblances?_

On the night she and Natasha lost themselves, Lexa was drunk; they had been out celebrating the anniversary of Lexa’s reassignment – incidentally, a day shy of her and Clarke’s anniversary. It had been a good night to spend drinking herself blind.

The next thing she knew, she was opening her eyes to _Natasha –_ new and carefree and _light;_ Lexa looked upon her and saw a clean slate, and Lexa found it impossible not to say yes.

Natasha wasn’t a fan of histories, which Lexa liked; she didn’t want to have to explain Clarke. Truth be told, all Lexa wanted was a way forward, and Natasha gave her that – an easy companionship that let her sleep easy at night, sans the nightmares she so often had, in the early months after her breakup with Clarke. _A chance to forget. Tabula rasa._

Lexa treasured it, taking pains to put her old life away, carefully hidden in the seams. Many times, Lexa found herself staring at Natasha’s sleeping face and wondering how long she’s got until this one swims away from her as well. _Maybe a couple of months,_ she thought. When she got past that: _Maybe six._

They lasted for roughly four years, though if anyone would take into account the business trips they spent apart, all of it would have added up to something much shorter. For the most part, Lexa was relieved to find that Clarke’s main bone of contention was not an issue at all for Natasha; then again, their lives had been too similar, there was nearly no room for misunderstanding.

On the night it ends with Natasha, Lexa finds the Lacuna card on the kitchen counter and feels a chill wrap around her heart.

 _Time’s up,_ the thing in her chest says, and when Natasha slowly emerges from the kitchen with that sad, betrayed look on her face, it does not even occur to Lexa to explain.

 _Please do not mention this relationship to her again._ “Who are you?” Natasha asks, her voice faraway. “Who _were_ you before all of this?”

Lexa just hangs her head. “Just a glitch in someone’s memory,” she says. “Nothing to see here.”

Just like that, she _knows_ they are done, and for the rest of the night and the handful of days after, their house is quiet.

*

_Lexa misses Clarke’s graduation by a handful of hours. By the time she gets home, Clarke’s already in her pyjamas, and is smiling ruefully at the medal hanging on the doorknob to the bedroom, drying her hair._

_She doesn’t turn her head when Lexa opens the door._

_“I’m really sorry, Clarke.”_

_Clarke shrugs. “It’s okay,” she says, though there’s nothing okay about her tone. “You must be tired.” And then: “It wasn’t your fault that your flight was delayed. Again.”_

_Lexa lets out the breath she’s holding, but only a little; there’s still a block on her chest that she could not shake out, not just yet. “I still have your present.”_

_Clarke turns to her and smiles wanly; it doesn’t even reach her eyes. “Thanks,” she says, before retreating into the bedroom. “It’s been an exhausting day. Good night.”_

_Lexa leaves the present on the counter and sits carefully on the sofa, untying her laces slowly. What ultimately bothers her is not so much Clarke’s disappointment, but the fact that by now she’s grown so familiar with_ this _Clarke that she knows_ exactly _what to do with her – ride the mood out until morning, basically. With Jack Daniels, preferred._

 _Lexa sighs, staring at Clarke’s carefully wrapped package._ I should have gotten two, _she just thinks._

_*_

_It’s the first of many._

_*_

_On the night it implodes, Lexa comes home to find Clarke sobbing over the sink._

_“Clarke?” Lexa leaves her suitcase by the door and tries approaching, but Clarke waves her off.  Lexa stops in her tracks, confused. “What’s wrong?”_

_Clarke stays still against the kitchen counter, like she’s wrapping up her crying. Lexa grips the back of a nearby chair to keep herself from launching herself at her._ What the fuck is going on? _she wants to ask._ I’ve been away for only ten days.

 _Ten days – already a short period, considering how for the past quarter or so she has been out of town for half a month, at least. “Let me help.” Lexa bites down on her tongue. Of all the things she wanted to say,_ that’s _the one that gets out? “Anything at all?”_

 _Clarke turns the faucet on and runs her hands under it, splashing her face with water a few times before drying her face on the inside of her shirt. “I needed you_ months _ago,” Clarke says softly, walking past her to head into their room. “If only you were here.”_

_“I’m here now,” says Lexa. “After a six-hour flight and an hour-long wait at the taxi queue—”_

_“What does that even mean?”_

Shit, _Lexa thinks. Nothing’s coming out right. Lexa sighs, leaning against the doorway to their bedroom, watching Clarke fussing with the sheets. “Clarke,” she says, exhaustion seeping into her voice. “I just—I want to help, okay?”_

 _“Then_ stay, _” says Clarke matter-of-factly, smoothing the bedsheets over the corners. “And pay attention”_

 _“I_ am _paying attention.”_

_Clarke shakes her head, laughing softly – the sound is bitter and jagged around the corners, it cuts at Lexa in the most unpleasant of ways._

_“_ Clarke. _”_

_“Are you sure you have time to listen today?”_

_Lexa is so tired she could feel her bones creak; Clarke’s tone certainly isn’t helping either. “I’m listening,” she says, jaw clenched. Clarke shifts her eyes to look at her – Lexa feels like she’s looking back at an entirely different person, altogether._

_Clarke swallows hard before speaking, but just as she opens her mouth, Lexa’s phone starts ringing loudly in her pants. Lexa curses as she slides it out of her pocket, signaling to Clarke that she must take the call. She doesn’t even see Clarke’s face before she turns away to answer with an annoyed, ‘Hello.’_

_The call takes all of ten minutes; Lexa returns to her original spot after ending it, only to find Clarke already reading in bed._

_“Sorry,” Lexa says. “You were saying?”_

_Shaking her head, Clarke just says, “Just forget about it. All of it.”_

_*_

Looking out her window, Lexa stares at the clouds – she’s writing a letter to Clarke at 39,000 feet, because it feels like the only thing to do. _Maybe I’ll even send it to her,_ she thinks, wondering if Raven has Clarke’s address, at least. _Or perhaps I can send it to her office._

_The office of her company, which she runs with Wells. Her husband._

Lexa shakes the tremor out of her hand. She’s been stuck at _Dear Clarke_ for the first couple of hours already; could be that the words are there, but they’re running from her.

_Dear Clarke--_

_Truth be told there are a handful of things I am thankful you don’t remember – like that time we practically crawled home from one of Bellamy’s frat parties. It was insane – I still have that scar on my shin to prove it – and I remember Raven was DJ-ing that night. I still can’t believe you used to think you were pale and uninteresting beside her; truth was, you were all I ever saw. You were color and shadows and light. Anyway, that night we were so smashed we barely made it to my dorm room upright. I remember kissing you against the door, and Anya having to practically peel us off it. I couldn’t look at her for days; I think that was why I moved out._

_I don’t know why I’m even telling you these things; you’re not supposed to remember any of these, are you? Or was this one of the moments you mentioned on your tape? That night, you tasted like lime and tequila. I don’t even drink tequila anymore, yet when I remember that night, the flavor comes back to my mouth, just like that. Not really all that unpleasant, but._

Lexa pauses to breathe, shaking her hand out. The clouds keep rolling past just outside her window, affording her only glimpses of island and sea.

_Sometimes I wish I didn’t remember so much. Sometimes. But each time the memory of you bears down on me heavily, I have only to remind myself I am remembering for two._

_I am remembering you for you._

_Yours always,_

*

It’s a bumpy one-and-a-half-hour ride from the airport to the sea. Lexa arrives at her hotel just as the sun is about to set, and it’s the first thing she sees when she parts her curtains: The golden sun, round and aglow, descending slowly over the horizon. There is water as far as her eyes can reach; all of it makes Lexa feels so small and insignificant.

 _Everything’s just a ripple in the ocean,_ she thinks. Her eyes are fixed on the sea.

Night falls. Lexa spends most of dusk just staring out and breathing in, letting the sea breeze fill her lungs. Below, bonfires are being lit along the shore, and groups begin to gather around them slowly, their laughter filling the air.

Lexa finds herself smiling absently at the sound.

Dinner is quiet, per Lexa’s specific request. She sits at an isolated corner of the hotel’s restaurant and watches people walk by barefoot, hand-in-hand. The sight puts an ache somewhere in Lexa that she cannot place.

There’s a wedding party in the adjacent hotel, and Lexa watches amusedly as the guests spill onto the shore in their formal wear, drunk and laughing. The women are taking off their sandals, and the men are unbuttoning their dress shirts as they begin running toward the water, all screams and riot and splashing. Lexa almost hears herself laughing along – how nice it must be, to have just one carefree night like that, in the middle of _adulthood._

Lexa turns to the waiter and orders a glass wine to go with the view. When she looks up at the sky, the stars have just begun to come out.

It’s going to be a long night.

*

_Bellamy drives them to the ocean, the first time. Raven rides shotgun and reads the map while Lexa and Clarke try their best not to make out in the back seat, keeping their hands to themselves._

_“Behave,” Raven says without even looking up. Lexa thinks she catches the ghost of a grin from when Bellamy catches her eye on the rear view mirror._

_Clarke loves the water; Lexa doesn’t believe her at first, when Clarke admits that it’s her first time to see it, but there’s a twinkle in her eye that is hard to fake; a sort of wonder that puts a twinge in Lexa’s chest. “I’ve seen lakes,” Clarke says, “but all of them combined could not have prepared me for this.”_

_Bellamy drives up as close as possible to the shore; he and Lexa are unloading the cooler from the back of Bell’s truck when they are interrupted by_ shrieking _. When they turn their heads, they end up watching slack-jawed as Raven and Clarke strip down to their suits before running toward the water._

_“You look like you could use a drink,” Bellamy says after a while, handing Lexa her first beer._

_Lexa grins as she pops it open, eyes trained on Clarke, still cavorting with Raven in the water. “You, too,” she says in response, and Bellamy only laughs. It’s only when she takes her first sip that she realizes how thirsty she actually is._

_“What are you waiting for?” Lexa jerks her head toward the water, if only to see Raven flailing her arms and yelling. “The water is warm!”_

_“What do you think?” Bellamy asks._

_Lexa sighs as she drains her beer can before lifting her shirt above her head. “I think some salt water would be good.”_

_*_

_“Do you ever think about how vast it all is?” Clarke asks later that night, when they’re already lying side-by-side on the back of Bellamy’s truck. Clarke shifts so as to wrap herself around Lexa gently, her breath hot in the crook of Lexa’s neck._

_“The sea?”_

_“Mhmm,” says Clarke. “And the sky. It makes me feel so small.”_

_“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”_

_“Depends on my mood,” Clarke says. She’s so close that Lexa can feel her smiling against her skin. “Most times it’s a relief.”_

_“Same,” Lexa says, nodding. “If in the general scheme of the universe, we are all but a small speck—”_

_“Then what does it matter, no?” Clarke finishes for her. “How can anything be both terrifying and soothing at the same time?” Lexa finds herself laughing at the contradiction. “_ Heeeey,” _Clarke says in mock-admonishment, pinching Lexa’s side lightly. The contact elicits a soft yelp, and just like that Clarke is laughing along. “I’m trying to be serious here.”_

_“And I am, too, really,” says Lexa. “It’s just – why are we even trying so hard, right? The universe doesn’t care anyway. None of it matters.”_

_Clarke is quiet for a while, her fingers fiddling with the bracelet around Lexa’s wrist. “_ This _matters,” she says gently._

_Lexa swallows hard. Her chest feels so small for such enormous feeling. “Yes,” she just says, pulling Clarke closer against her. “Yes, it does.” They share a long quiet moment, interrupted only by Clarke’s sighs. “What are you thinking about?”_

_Clarke burrows her face softly against Lexa’s neck. “You have ruined the ocean for me,” she says. “I’ll always remember you when I see it.”_

_“You say that like we won’t always see the ocean together.”_

_Clarke props herself up on an elbow at that. Lexa looks up at her, her face bracketed by sky and stars. “You ever think about things ending?”_

_“Clarke.” Lexa sits up slowly._ It’s too early for this. _“What are you even talking about?”_

 _“It’s like—a painting. When it’s done, it’s just…_ done. _”_

_Lexa narrows her eyes at her, tempering a smile. “How many have you had to drink?”_

_Clarke rolls her eyes, nudging Lexa’s thigh. “You’re always dismissing me,” she says, pouting._

_“I was kidding, Clarke,” she says, lifting Clarke’s hand and kissing the back of it gently. “Not my intention to dismiss you. At all.”_

_“Then answer the question.”_

_Lexa sets her jaw, thinking about what to say next. Clarke looks at her expectedly; she seems completely sober, and Lexa’s chest feels the full weight of the question now. “I don’t believe in endings,” she says finally. “I believe in cycles.”_

_“Cycles?”_

_“Things begin and things end, only to begin again,” she says. “You start a painting and get it done, then you make another one, don’t you?”_

_“I don’t think that metaphor’s a perfect fit for what I’m trying to get at.”_

_“Our days start and our days end, Clarke,” Lexa says, very very quietly. She doesn’t know how_ not _to say it – she doesn’t want to think about it, really. “Like this one. It started with a sunrise, and ends with this – you and me and a blanket of stars.” Lexa pauses. “Then tomorrow, we begin again.”_

_Clarke leans in closer to kiss her. She still tastes like the sea. “You’re lucky you’re gorgeous,” Clarke murmurs against her lips. “That wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”_

_“I know,” says Lexa. “Maybe it should be.”_

_They kiss and kiss until Bellamy knocks against the side of his truck. He laughs as Raven yells at them to get inside because it’s getting cold._

_“Time to go home kids,” Bellamy just says, starting the engine._

_*_

In the morning, the sea is cold. Lexa bites down on her lip as she wades in anyway, waiting for the sun. Like this, the water feels so clean; like the ocean had taken its time to refresh itself overnight. The shore is empty, mostly, save for a few attendants just beginning their shifts. Lexa looks back at where she’s parked her book and towel by the shore before swimming out, again.

She hasn’t done this in so long; she wonders how she managed that. After Clarke, she tried going at least once a year, but then Natasha wasn’t as fond of the beach as she was of hiking, so Lexa found herself trading in her beach-front rooms for cabins in the woods. Not a bad thing entirely; Natasha made it worth the trip, every time.

But the woods were not the beach – Lexa knew this well. Some nights, she found herself pining after the sound of waves crashing against the shore, only to be woken by the faint rustling of leaves and the singing of cicadas. Not horrible alternatives, by the way – just… _different._

 _Just not what I was looking for,_ Lexa thought.

Lexa lets herself sink slightly, tilting her head back into the water, her eyes closed. The water holds her, expectedly; it feels like being cradled in someone’s strong arms. Slowly around her the beach comes to life – mothers with their babies and fathers with their toddler sons and some newly woken lovers. Lexa hears them all wade in.

When Lexa opens her eyes again, it’s just in time to see the sun peek out of the clouds. _Finally._ Lexa lifts herself out of the water, letting the early morning sunshine warm her back as she makes her way toward breakfast.

*

Lexa spends most of the morning reading by the shore, securing a quiet spot just beyond the riot of the beach. There’s a volleyball game ongoing, a mix of twenty-something boys and girls shouting at each other across the net, sand sticking to the backs of their legs. It reminds Lexa of younger years; that sweet ache, once upon a time. Lexa finds herself stretching her limbs at the memory.

 _A memory before Clarke._ Lexa closes her book and stares out at the sea, trying to absorb that thought. The life she had before Clarke feels even much farther away. _Who were you before all of this?_ Lexa hears Natasha in her head again, and she finds herself shaking her head absently.

_You say that like we won’t always see the ocean together._

There’s a sharp shrill cry and Lexa turns her head just in time to see a wayward volleyball coming her way; her right arm shoots up out of instinct to send it back. The spot on her wrist stings.

The girl who runs after the ball stops a few feet from Lexa, catching it with a small hop. “Thanks,” she says, grinning. Her hair is wild and golden against the sun. _If I squint this way,_ Lexa begins thinking, before shutting her eyes. _Stop seeing things, Lexa._

“You should come join,” the girl says again, getting down on one knee to look Lexa in the face. “Not a serious game at all.”

Lexa looks over the girl’s shoulder, where her friends are hooting and cheering for her. _Ah, so._ “You’re already playing with three on each side,” she says. “I’ll only tip the balance.”

The girl shrugs. “I’ll sit and watch you play,” she says. “Come on.”

Lexa bites down on her lip. She speaks with a familiar lilt that Lexa wishes she does not recognize. “Thank you for the invitation,” she says, lifting the book in her hand. “Unfortunately, I’d have to pass.”

“Right,” the girl says, trying to hide the disappointment on her face. “I guess we’ll leave you to it.”

Lexa tilts her head. “I hope you win.”

The girl stands and smiles, shaking the sand off her shin gently. “See you around.”

Lexa watches the rest of the game from the corner of her eye; somewhere along the way, she even starts missing Raven and Bellamy. _What a luxury it is, to grow old with friends._ She tries not to be too sad. _We shed life after life, after all._

At lunch, Lexa receives far too many drinks. “From the volleyball table,” the waiter says with a smile, every time. That she is getting vaguely hit on by a group of twenty-somethings amuses her; so much that it puts a light blush on her face.

The last drink comes with a note that says, _You’re stunning._

Lexa shakes her head and borrows a pen from the bar. _I’m also taken,_ she writes back, sipping from her drink. It comes as an instantaneous reaction – she’d done it many times during business trips to ward off unnecessary advances. _I should have worn that ring_.

That ring was Natasha’s idea. _It’s not like I’m proposing to you,_ she’d stressed, but she took Lexa’s hand anyway and slid it onto her finger, slowly. _I mean, if it scares you. It’s just a ring. Friends swear it’s effective._

Lexa remembers holding her breath and saying yes. And then, having to clarify: _I meant yes – it’s just a ring. Though it doesn’t really scare me._ They never really talked about the future – there were sorts of people who did, she knew, who pegged their lives upon some unseen and faraway tomorrow, and that just wasn’t what they were. They lived in _flux,_ and it was this always present, all-consuming thing that barely allowed them to breathe. _But thanks. I’d let you know how it goes._

And now, she’s sitting here at the beach, having lunch alone with a stranger’s note under her drink. She tries to remember where she’d tucked Natasha’s ring – the only thing Lexa decided to keep, after everything. Truth be told, she didn’t think she had to wear it here, but then again.

But then again.

She wipes at her mouth before turning to the waiter and settling her tab. “And one more thing,” she tells him, leaning in closer. “Get the volleyball table some fries. For the drinks.”

*

_On the night she proposes to Clarke, everything happens backwards: They get drunk after sunset, spend much of the night lying on Lexa’s lawn and end up going to bed sober._

_“I wish I had a ring,” Lexa tells Clarke in bed later. They’re lying on top of the sheets, still fully clothed and awake. “Suppose I’d just have to do it properly another time.”_

_“You don’t have to,” Clarke says, kissing Lexa’s shoulder. “I mean, the answer’s going to be the same. What’s the point?”_

_“What? You don’t ever think about wearing a ring?”_

_Clarke pushes up to an elbow and looks down at Lexa, hand light on Lexa’s stomach. “You know what I think about?” she asks. “I think about you. This life. Maybe traveling.” A pause. “I think about us all the time, but not really a ring, no.”_

_Lexa stares up at her ceiling; thinks about how small their apartment is, yet how full and lovely._ How long is it going to stay this way? _she wonders briefly, before pushing it out of her head._ Not tonight, Lexa.

_That night, they undress slowly, like they’re seeing everything for the first time; Lexa grips tight around Clarke’s hips and a soft sigh betrays Clarke’s surprise. Lexa dips closer to Clarke’s neck and bites down, until the sigh turns into a moan. Lexa slides her hand lower. Clarke shifts and lifts and wraps herself around Lexa, like a river; Lexa bends and lets herself be taken, the current running through her veins._

_Later still, after breaking underneath Lexa’s hands, Clarke takes her time touching each of Lexa’s scars, as Lexa writhes and shivers underneath, hands fisted into the sheets. It feels like hours; feels like days. Like this, Lexa feels like she’s having her boundaries redrawn, the terrain of her body remapped; her skin dotted with Clarke’s conquered cities._

*

Lexa naps until early evening, feeling slightly disappointed she’d missed the sunset. This night is quieter, in the absence of a wedding party next door, and Lexa slides into her usual spot at the restaurant again, waiting to be served.

She fiddles with the ring on her finger idly – she’d gone for so long without it that already it is an unfamiliar weight. She looks around – the beach is as good as deserted, with only a couple of bonfires lit. _A quiet evening it is,_ she tells herself, thinking about dinner.

She’s about an hour into her meal when music starts playing from the hotel on the opposite end of the shore. _So much for a quiet evening,_ Lexa thinks with a smile. She could use a bit of _merrymaking,_ truth be told; missing the sunset has dampened her mood, somewhat.

The hotel at the end of the shore is celebrating an anniversary, it turns out, and they’re throwing a free rave with booze. Everybody’s at _that_ end of the beach, which explains the quiet of Lexa’s beachfront – something she discovers herself when she walks toward the ruckus. A part of her craves the noise; when she feels the crowd vibrating to the beat, it takes her back many years. She closes her eyes and imagines herself back in one of Bellamy’s frat parties, with Raven on the stage, looking out with a smug grin on her face, her headset lopsided.

_Ah, the days._

It doesn’t take long before the crowd thickens enough to be suffocating; Lexa drinks sparingly, ultra-aware of just how far she is from her hotel, and alone, at that. Absently, she touches her ring. _Not technically alone,_ she just thinks, smiling at her little secret. She looks around, trying to survey the crowd – the lights are so bright that she sees nearly nothing but a wash of white. Above their heads, the beat gets louder and faster and Lexa lets herself get lost. _Just another nameless face in the crowd._

Lexa peels herself away from the pit when her legs start aching, finding a seat by the bar. She looks out at the dancing crowd -- something about their rhythmic pulsing is utterly hypnotizing and Lexa can’t find it in herself to look away. Twice, she is approached by two men, both bearing drinks, but she has only to say she’s married for them to leave her alone. _How easy is this?_ she thinks, still smiling into her drink.

She’s already halfway through her third mojito when she feels a hand on her elbow.

“You’re really married?”

The question confuses Lexa, and with everything in slow motion – in part due to the heat, in part due to the drinks – it takes a while before she locates the source of the sound.

 _What?_ Lexa blinks and rubs at her eyes.

“Clarke?”

*

_“I’m thinking about moving out of the city.”_

_Lexa looks up from her papers spread out on the dining table, her brows furrowed. “Moving out?” she asks, taking her glasses off to rub at her eyes briefly. “Where is this coming from?”_

_Clarke sighs, returning to her book. “Never mind.”_

_“No, seriously. I want to know.”_

_“That’s not exactly your Lexa-wants-to-have-a-conversation tone.”_

_Lexa drops her pen and sits back, arms crossed. “What does that even mean?”_

_“Jesus,” Clarke says, turning a page. It infuriates Lexa, slightly. “I was joking.”_

_“But you weren’t joking about moving?”_

_Clarke keeps reading quietly, turning a page. Then another. Lexa tries not to be impatient, but it is quite hard to tell with Clarke these days, if she’s doing this on purpose. Since they moved from her old apartment into this new one a couple of months prior, things have been… skittish. Like there are egg shells all over and Lexa is walking barefoot. And it’s gnawing at her, and gnawing at her, and Clarke just refuses to say anything._

_“_ Clarke. _” Lexa does not mean to sound like she’s snapping, but she can’t help it. It’s late and she’s tired and this report is due tomorrow, but Clarke seems to want to do this conversation before bed, so._

_“As I’ve said, never mind.”_

_“I’m not dropping this.”_

_Clarke shuts her book and drops it on the table beside her, crossing her legs. “Look, Lex,” she says, finally looking at Lexa. “It just—I feel like I’ve been living here too long.”_

_“We just moved here.”_

_Clarke rolls her eyes. “I did not mean_ this _apartment per se – I mean, it looks fine. And_ clean, _god. Look at those empty walls.”_

_Lexa bites her tongue. Leaving Clarke’s wall mural in their old apartment had been a sore topic, and it would be an understatement to say that Clarke was disappointed to learn the new place did not allow for wall repainting. “It’s on the lease, Clarke,” Lexa says. What else is there to say, anyway?_

_“It’s not just the wall, Lex,” she says. She sounds so tired; Lexa finds it insulting, a bit. “It’s… this. What this has become.” Clarke gestures with her hands flippantly. It hits Lexa like a slap across her face._

_“And what_ exactly _has it become for you?” Lexa asks, jaw clenched._

_Clarke looks away at that. “I don’t know,” she says, after a while. “I’m just—I’m trying to get this feeling back, and it’s just—”_

_“Just_ what, _Clarke? What are we supposed to feel again?”_

_“Young,” Clarke says. “Free.”_

_“Freedom comes at a cost,” says Lexa. “We do what we have to do.” And then: “We’re a long way from who we were when we first met, Clarke. That’s not exactly a bad thing.”_

_“Is it not?” Clarke asks quietly. “You feel so far away.”_

_Lexa breathes in; the room feels like it’s closing in on her, the air thick and difficult. “I’m right here,” she says. “And I’m not going anywhere.”_

_Clarke stands, picking her book back up from the table before heading into the bedroom. “Then I guess that’s that.”_

_*_

_Lexa comes to bed a couple of hours later, slipping carefully into bed beside Clarke, hoping not to wake her. Clarke shifts anyway, wrapping her arms around Lexa warmly, like she always has for the past handful of years. The sheets rustle with the movement, and Lexa sighs, sinking into the mattress, boneless._

_In the dark, Clarke says, “I’m not sure this is what I signed up for.”_

_Lexa looks up – this new ceiling is dark and devoid of Clarke’s old glow-in-the-dark constellations, also left behind in their old room. Her eyes start stinging with the beginning of tears. “I’m trying so hard, Clarke.”_

_“Is it supposed to be this hard?”_

_Lexa threads her fingers into Clarke’s, pressing a kiss onto the top of Clarke’s head. She smells like the beginning of sleep, and all the days Lexa has missed._

_“I honestly do not know.”_

_*_

_Clarke slips away slowly, and Lexa lets her. Instead, Lexa opts to bury herself in her work, staying late nights and going on extended trips, waiting for Clarke to say something. Clarke says nothing, though; she’s already well past that, it seems. It saddens Lexa, but then shouldn’t she have seen this coming? Certainly she has, but every time, she chooses to turn a blind eye to the subtle shifts in Clarke’s behavior – perhaps there’s always tomorrow to deal with it? In any case, Lexa makes it a point to push it to the back of her mind._ Maybe tomorrow, I’ll know what to do, _she just thinks. Day after day, she hopes._

_Lexa misses their anniversary that year – ominously also their last. She comes home from a business trip four days later, and Clarke picks her up at the airport like there’s nothing wrong. They watch a movie and go to dinner and go home and fuck, like the ice isn’t so thin; like Clarke isn’t about to break three days later to ask for space._

_It ends a couple of months later with Lexa sending out the last of Clarke’s boxes. Just like that, her apartment feels too huge for one; the walls too clean for comfort._

_*_

“I asked a question.”

Lexa blinks again, just to be sure. _My brain is fucking with me._ “Sorry,” she says, squinting at the girl in front of her in disbelief. “I thought—I’ve had a few drinks.” And then: “What are you even doing here?”

“Working,” says Clarke. “This hotel’s our account.”

“Oh.” Lexa pauses, catching her breath. _Look at you._ Even in the dark, Clarke looks… _radiant._ There’s a glow upon her that Lexa cannot ignore – her skin sun kissed and _alive._ She remembers the last time she saw Clarke at her mother’s funeral, wearing that pale, tearstained face. _A long, long time ago._  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—none of my business even, is it?”

“Hey, I was the one who was asking if you were indeed married,” says Clarke. “I think we’re not really under the pretense of asking only the appropriate questions.” Her tone is light, even teasing. _How are you even managing this?_

 _Don’t you remember?_ Lexa blinks.

_Maybe for now we can both forget._

Clarke tilts her head, a silent question on her lips, and Lexa shakes her head. “Right,” she says, managing a small laugh. “Not real, by the way,” Lexa says of the ring. “Kind of like a force field.”

Clarke breathes out. Lexa tries not to read too much into it. _It could be the heat._ “Of course.” And then, with brows furrowed: “You’re alone.”

“And you’re not.” A statement, not a question. She notes the crease of worry that crosses Clarke’s forehead with a fondness that Lexa wishes still doesn’t come to her so automatically.

Clarke pauses to take a sip from her drink. “Actually.”

“ _No_ ,” says Lexa. _Where’s Wells?_ Lexa bites down on her tongue, looking for other words. “You’re working alone?”

“Not like I paint everything,” says Clarke, gesturing toward the hotel façade with a hand. Lexa notes the slight twinge in her chest at the memory -- in her head she sees Clarke in her paint-streaked khakis, tongue between teeth.   _Whatever we want, Clarke._ The words echo in her head and Lexa presses her palm to her forehead, like that could make all of it stop. “Are you all right? Our hotel lobby bar is a bit cooler—”

“I’m fine,” says Lexa, panicking lightly at the mention of _our hotel_. She digs her toes into the sand and tries to find comfort in it, already cold and damp at this time of the night. “Here is just fine. Unless of course—”

“You’re my guest,” says Clarke. It’s out so automatically that Lexa wonders just how long Clarke has been here. “Let me take care of you.”

Lexa’s breath hitches at that. “Clarke.” She lowers her gaze to the table, where their hands are barely touching. Clarke’s hands are small and _empty_ and Lexa feels her throat go dry. “Your _ring._ ”

Clarke curls her hand into a loose fist, like she’s forgotten to hide something. “Didn’t want to lose it on the beach,” she says. Lexa notes the clipped tone Clarke uses with that, and decides not to press further.

After a while, Clarke tries again: “Would you like to have another drink then? On the house, of course.”

Just like that, there it is – an _opening_. Lexa looks up, a light smile on her face. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” _Maybe I already am,_ she thinks, biting down on her tongue. She feels all the under-rug-swept things start swimming up to the surface – years and _years_ of Clarke and that phone call and that Lacuna card that ended her relationship with Natasha, all of it.

“You’re shaking.” Clarke slides her hand atop hers, and Lexa feels her bones stand still at the feel of it. The skin Clarke touches burns, but Lexa stays put, unable to pull away or move. “Want to get some air instead?”

*

Lexa walks right where the water meets the shore, letting the cold sea wash over her bare feet. She wraps her sarong tightly around herself as the sea breeze blows past; it’s a moderately chilly night, not at all unpleasant, and the sky is dark enough for stars.

She can hear Clarke walking after her, footsteps splashing not far behind. Clarke follows at a distance, like she’s figuring out how close is _too_ close. Lexa does not blame her; she thinks about the tape, and how Clarke had sounded so _broken,_ the last time they talked on the phone. Lexa breathes in and looks up – the night is so, so lovely and the air smells like salt and summer.

_Maybe for now we can both forget._

The next time Lexa looks over her shoulder, the party is already a faraway hum; nothing but lights swiveling in the distance and the ghost of a rhythm faintly vibrating under Lexa’s skin. Clarke stops walking, like she’s waiting for Lexa to say something.

“Want to sit?” asks Lexa. They’re in front of another hotel entirely. _Neutral ground._ Lexa unwraps her sarong from around her shoulders and unfurls it upon the sand, patting the space right beside her. “Clarke.”

“Now you’ll get cold,” Clarke says, crawling carefully onto the cloth and drawing her knees up to her chest. They take a moment to look out into the sea, lapping steadily at the shore. “I should have brought mine, as well.”

Lexa inches closer – just close enough for their bare shoulders to touch. If Clarke notices, she doesn’t give it away. “This is warm enough,” Lexa finds herself murmuring, fingertips fiddling with the hem of the cloth and the sand caught in the fabric. “You all right?”

Clarke nods in the dark. “Mhmm.” She doesn’t turn her head and keeps staring out onto the water, like she’s deep in thought. It puts knots in Lexa’s gut, but it’s not like she can push. _What good would any of that do?_

 _The tape ran for five hours._ Lexa closes her eyes. _And in those five hours, you couldn’t have spared a couple of minutes to rethink—_

“Can I ask you something?” Clarke says, and Lexa feels her eyes fly open, jolted back to the moment.

Lexa clears her throat. “Go ahead,” she says. _I’ve been waiting all night._

_I’ve been waiting all these years._

“What were you expecting when you came back for my mother?”

Lexa swallows hard at that, setting her jaw. “It went exactly as expected,” she just says. “I knew it was going to be difficult. I prepared myself for that.”

“When I saw you, I thought—you looked exactly like a girl I saw in my dreams, once,” says Clarke, pausing. “That’s not even true – you were in my dreams a lot.” And then: “Guess the guys missed some spots, huh.”

Lexa finds herself smiling at that. _Trust Clarke’s brain to be stubborn._ “Not entirely fool-proof, was it?”

“Not exactly. Being around you felt like I was being… _tugged._ Persistently. It was like this ache and itch, rolled into one. And it was just… _under the skin._ I couldn’t reach it.”

“I did not mean to cause you discomfort,” says Lexa. “I just wanted to pay my last respects. Abby was my mother, too.” The sound Clarke makes at that – a half-laugh, half-sob. Lexa immediately offers an apology; some unseen string she’s tripped, it seems. “I’m sorry, was it something I said?”

“No, I—just something I remembered,” Clarke says, sniffing. “From my tape.” Lexa says nothing as she leans in closer, her shoulder pressing into Clarke’s more insistently, like she’s saying, _I’m listening._ Clarke clears her throat, preparing to speak again. “I think I said I thought you were more my mother’s daughter than I ever was.”

Lexa bites the inside of her cheek. Her closeness to Abby had been one of Clarke’s sore spots – one they never really discussed. Truth be told, Lexa saw a lot of her own mother in Abby – all hard exteriors and soft insides. “I’m sorry,” Lexa just says. “That was never my intention. To make you feel that way, at all.”

“I’ve made my peace,” Clarke says.

“It was just—I was looking for someone,” says Lexa. “And she was so familiar.”

“And now she’s gone.” Clarke’s tone is matter-of-fact, and it cuts at Lexa. _We’re always losing people, aren’t we?_ She sniffs again, swiping her hand across her face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so depressing. It’s the _beach_ , for fuck’s sake.” She lets out a half-laugh that; unconvincing at best.

Lexa reaches out tentatively, a light hand on Clarke’s knee. “We don’t have to talk,” she says. “About the tape. About that phone call. About your mother.”

“Right,” Clarke says, after a while. “Okay then.”

“We can just sit here,” Lexa adds. “Forget a while.”

“Okay.” Clarke inches closer, resting her chin on the back of Lexa’s hand. Lexa stares at her as she looks out at the sea, trying to drown out her thoughts in the sound of the waves.

*

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Clarke asks as they walk toward Lexa’s hotel.

Lexa is stunned; she’d half-expected Clarke to bolt the island, in all honesty. “I don’t think I’m leaving anytime soon,” she says. “Figured I could use a break.”

“What about—what’s her name? Your wife.”

 _Natasha._ Lexa looks away, absently touching the ring still on her finger. “We’re—she’s no longer in the picture,” she says. “We’re done.”

“Oh.” And then, “I’m sorry. To hear that. And to pry, sorry. I did not mean—”

“It’s _fine,_ Clarke.”

“It wasn’t—sorry. Not my place.”

“It’s all right. _Really._ ”

“If it makes you feel better, Wells and I are taking a break ourselves.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“He’s not here.”

Lexa stops walking. “Why are you telling me this?” she asks. It comes out a bit combative and Clarke frowns at her, seemingly upset. Lexa sighs.“That came out wrong.”

“I was just—I had this crazy idea,” Clarke begins, wringing her hands. “That we could be, you know. The sort of people who told each other things.”

“You mean friends?”

Clarke tilts her head, half-nodding. “I wasn’t sure you’d like for me to use that term.” And then: “What do you think about making it all up?” she asks. “Starting from scratch?”

 _Oh, take me back to the start._ Lexa can think of a hundred ways this could go wrong – could she trust herself to turn to a completely blank page, for instance? To forget the Clarke she met at the dorm mixer? The Clarke who once painted her bedroom wall?

The Clarke who left her life, box by box? The Clarke who chose to _forget_?

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking of me,” says Lexa, tone careful. She doesn’t want to turn Clarke away –the _last thing_ she wants, in all honesty, but it’s not like she could bear giving Clarke false hope, either.

She’s done with that – with lying and promising and coming up short.

_Not this time._

“Maybe what I’m saying is,” Clarke says, stepping a bit closer, and Lexa finds herself being backed against the hotel façade. Even with careful, measured steps, Clarke still manages to _loom --_ like a presence to contend with, and Lexa listens closely to the deafening beat in her chest. “This doesn’t have to be so hard.”

 _Oh, but it is, can’t you see?_ “Whatever _this_ is,” Lexa says instead.

Clarke reaches out, touching Lexa’s wrist gingerly, and Lexa holds her breath. “Whatever we want,” she just says softly, rubbing lightly on Lexa’s pulse.

*

When Lexa goes down for breakfast the following morning, her usual table has flowers.

“From the resort down the shore,” the server explains, pulling her chair out for her. “Ms Griffin sends her morning regards.”

Lexa smiles, lazily rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Thank you,” she says softly, as the waiter lowers her cup of coffee on the table, a note tucked under the saucer. Lexa slips it out, opens and reads.

 _Lexa,_ it begins, in Clarke’s unmistakable handwriting. _It was nice seeing you last night. I hope you like the flowers._ She’d signed off with the single letter _C,_ though the note is written on office stationery that bears her full name and contact details.

Lexa folds it back up gently, stowing it in her wallet. And then, turning to her server: “Would you mind sending a note down there for me?” Her server nods, going away briefly, only to return with pen and paper.

 _Clarke,_ she begins, fingers shaky around the borrowed pen. _Thank you for last night. And the flowers. I hope to see you around._ Lexa thinks about saying more – but what else is there, really?

_You are lovely. Yours always._

Lexa signs off with her name and her number before handing it over, folded in the middle.

“Just a note?” the server asks.

“What do you suggest?”

He shrugs, looking around. “Maybe an orange.”

Lexa laughs, nodding. “You people truly think of everything.”

*

She spends most of the morning back in her room, curled up in a chair that she’d pulled right out to the veranda. It has a view of the beach and the water, and is shaded from the extreme heat of the midday sun. It’s perfect, Lexa thinks, for finishing this book she’s been trying to get to the end of since she left. She sits back and sighs, trying to tune out the laughter from below – she’s been going over this particular passage for the past five minutes.

Lexa glances at the table beside her bed, where Clarke’s flowers are sitting in a vase, and she feels a smile stretch her face slowly. _Such big feelings for such a small gesture,_ she thinks, closing her book in surrender and staring at her bed, trying to push her ill-advised fantasies out of her head. _Don’t even think about it, Lexa,_ she tells herself, yet for a split-second she still sees Clarke anyway, her hair splayed out on the sheets, her face flushed from—

_Lexa, no._

She stands and approaches the edge of the veranda, looking out. _The sea should calm you._

Yet when her eyes scan the beach, she sees a familiar shade of gold under the sun. _Shit._ Her phone starts ringing in her pocket – who puts their phone in their pocket _while_ on vacation, really? – and right on cue, Clarke’s signature rasp comes on.

“Hello?”

“Lexa?”

From her veranda, Lexa watches Clarke move, phone in her ear, oblivious that she is being watched. Clarke is wearing this thin summer dress that ends halfway down her thigh, and Lexa tries not to stare at the rest of it, suppressing a shiver. “Clarke?” she says instead, clearing her throat. “Did you get my orange?”

Clarke laughs. “Yes, thank you,” she says, adjusting her sunglasses on her head. “I was hoping you were free for lunch.”

Lexa squints at the sky. _Days go by quickly, don’t they?_ She finds herself rubbing at her stomach absently. “What did you have in mind?”

Clarke pauses. She’s walking around like she’s trying to look for Lexa, and almost, Lexa giggles. “How do you feel about snorkeling?”

“Mortified,” says Lexa, gasping lightly. Clarke laughs. “Also, I can see you from here. Look up.” She watches as Clarke lifts her head, scanning the upper floors. Lexa waves a little and from afar, she can see Clarke smiling. “Hi.”

“There you are,” Clarke says. “Come on. Let’s go swimming.”

“I thought you were planning for lunch.”

“Who says I wasn’t?”

*

There’s a boat and Clarke urges Lexa to get on it before following after her, snorkel gear in tow. “Tell me island-hopping was at least part of your itinerary?” says Clarke, helping Lexa into her life vest.

“The beach had been more than enough,” says Lexa, breathing in as Clarke’s fingers tug at the straps expertly, brushing against Lexa’s bare chest occasionally. She hopes the blush could be attributed to being under too much sun. “Besides, solo snorkeling is no fun.”

“Lucky then that we found each other,” Clarke says off-handedly, and Lexa tries to ignore the layers of that statement. “Too tight?”

Lexa shakes her head. “Just enough,” she says, watching Clarke put on her own vest, practiced and confident. “You snorkel often?”

“Sort of,” she shrugs, tapping the boat man on the shoulder with a smile. “I like visiting the islands. They’re quieter than the beach.”

“You often go on your own?”

Clarke nods. “It’s not as scary as you think.”

“I wasn’t thinking of scary,” Lexa says, just as the engine comes to life. It roars and whirrs and just like that, they’re gliding over the water, white froth in their wake.

“What were you thinking then?” asks Clarke, turning to face her. Lexa can see her reflection on Clarke’s shades – she looks… young. And giddy and _actually_ excited. _Now there’s something I hadn’t seen in a while._ “Lexa?”

“I meant to say, I was thinking of _lonely_ ,” she answers. “Going from island to island by yourself.”

“I just like to imagine I am a conqueror – it’s an absolutely lonely occupation,” Clarke just says, smiling as she points to a rock formation they’d just zipped past. “There’s so much to see. Were you really _not_ planning on going?”

“This was really an impulse trip, more than anything,” Lexa admits. _I needed to get away._ “I hadn’t planned it out very well.”

“I see,” Clarke just says, hanging onto Lexa’s arm as the boat makes a sharp turn. “We’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

Clarke points to the island up ahead – the shore is white and empty and Lexa feels a small, soft whimper form in her throat at the beauty of it.

“Nice, no?” Clarke says, hand outstretched as she helps Lexa get off the boat with a small hop. The sand is powder-soft and warm under their feet. The shore is just about a kilometer long, with two wooden huts in the middle. “The resort put those two up. Sometimes, guests want a kind of rustic getaway.”

Lexa finds herself running a hand over the wooden table just outside the hut entrance. “Lucky it’s free today, eh?”

“It’s ours today,” says Clarke. “Until tonight, actually, though I don’t suggest staying way after sunset. The waters get rough in the dark.”

Lexa takes a look around. Back on the shore, their boatman is securing their boat and unloading some more things. “He’s staying with us?”

“He’s prepping lunch,” says Clarke, before pushing snorkel gear into Lexa’s hands. “While we take a look underwater. Sounds good?”

Lexa breathes in, hand brushing against Clarke’s as she hangs onto her snorkel. “Whatever we want, right?” Clarke only smiles as she takes Lexa’s hand and _tugs_.

Lexa lets herself be led to the water, her knees swimming.

*

They go underwater, hand-in-hand.

“I’m right here,” Clarke says, squeezing. “Don’t let go.”

Lexa holds her breath.

*

It feels like hours; feels like days.

*

When they get back to the shore, the lunch spread is ready – shrimp and crab and fruit, plus a host of side-things that Lexa cannot readily identify but look delicious, anyhow. Lexa groans at the sight, her stomach grumbling as she walks out of the water and trudges through the sand toward the table.

“Someone’s famished,” says Clarke, reaching for an orange and prying it open. “What do you think?”

“I think I want to live here,” says Lexa, leaning in closer as Clarke offers up a slice, holding it between forefinger and thumb. Lexa tries not to lick at Clarke’s fingers as she takes it. She marvels at how easy the day has been; how comfortable it is, to be alongside Clarke; to be seeing things for the first time. “Everything is just sweeter.”

“Wait till you’ve had their mangoes,” Clarke says, grinning as Lexa’s eyes widen. “ _Absolutely_ out of this world.”

They eat wordlessly, their meal interrupted only by sighs and satisfied grunting. _I don’t even care if this isn’t attractive,_ Lexa thinks, eating with her bare hands. They drink juice straight from coconuts and Lexa discovers that Clarke was not exaggerating _at_ _all_ about these ridiculous mangoes. “I want a hundred,” she says, after her fourth slice. “God. Why can’t we have these good things all the time?”

“Because it defeats the purpose of vacations,” says Clarke, sticking her tongue out at her. “Besides – _paradise_ would totally lose its edge if these mangoes weren’t exclusive.”

Lexa laughs, licking at her fingers a final time before heading toward the sea. She stops short of the water and plops down at the sand, on her back.

“You’ll get _sunburned_ ,” Clarke calls out.

Lexa just groans. She is inexplicably full and _happy._ “Wouldn’t be a bad way to go, really,” she says, squinting at the sun. She grins just as Clarke’s silhouette comes into view. “ _Hi_.”

“This sun isn’t healthy,” Clarke says, stretching her hands down at Lexa. “The huts are there for a reason.”

“But I want to lie down,” says Lexa with a mock-pout.

Clarke huffs, though her laugh gets out anyhow as Lexa pushes up to her elbows. “Then lie down _inside_ the hut.” They look at the sea – it’s flat and calm, and from further afar they can see the main beach with its tiny structures along the shore. _How much longer do I have,_ Lexa wonders, before quickly pushing the thought away.

Lexa follows Clarke into the hut, and she is surprised to see two single beds pushed against opposite walls, alongside two huge windows. Lexa heads toward the window that opens to the water, breathing in the salty sea breeze. The afternoon is warm and dizzying; Lexa can feel the familiar slow tug of sleep on her eyelids.

“I could get used to this,” Lexa finds herself saying, closing her eyes.

She thinks she hears Clarke whisper back, “Me, too,” before dozing off.

*

When Clarke wakes her, it’s almost sunset. “Lexa.” She whispers with her lips so close to Lexa’s ear that it almost feels like a kiss. “Come see the sunset.”

Lexa stretches, and Clarke lets her hand glide through the skin, touching Lexa’s side lightly. Lexa tries not to shiver too noticeably, but then again, she could always say it’s the late afternoon breeze, getting chilly by the minute. Lexa sits up in bed, rubbing at her eyes. When she opens them, she sees Clarke, sitting on the edge of the bed, her face lovely and illuminated.

 _The golden hour,_ Lexa thinks, reaching out absently to touch it, palm flush against Clarke’s cheek. Clarke leans into the touch, like it’s the most natural thing. _Hold on,_ Lexa tells herself. _For as long as it lets you._

“Come look,” Clarke says again, pulling away slowly and heading toward the sun, looking out at the horizon. Lexa walks out after her, marveling at how everything is just bathed in the warm glow of the sinking sun. _I want to keep this one,_ she thinks, as she steps right beside Clarke. Clarke breathes in, snaking her arm into Lexa’s, resting her cheek against Lexa’s shoulder.

“Would you look at that,” Lexa finds herself whispering.

“Of all the sunsets I’ve seen,” says Clarke, after a while. “This one by far is the most beautiful.”

Lexa feels something lodge in her throat, and she tries to blink away the tears threatening to spill from the corner of her eye as Clarke tightens her hold on her. _How much longer how much longer how much longer—_

“We should probably head back,” says Lexa, putting an arm around Clarke’s shoulder as the sun disappears completely from view, leaving the sky splashed with unnamable colors; they remind her of Clarke’s old paintings. She sighs at the sight, just as Clarke burrows into her further.

 _It’s the breeze,_ Lexa just tells herself. _That’s all this is._

*

Dinner is at Clarke’s hotel, and despite Lexa’s insistence to cover it, Clarke simply waves her away. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re _my_ guest. _Sit._ ”

“At least allow me to split the bill with you.”

Clarke narrows her eyes at her, small smile on her lips. “Fine. You can pay for the drinks later.”

 _There is later?_ Lexa tilts her head, trying not to get all hopeful, but the feeling floods her chest anyhow. “Means you’d have to go out to drinks with me first,” she manages to say. _Easy like this,_ she thinks. _Like we’re meeting for the first time. Two strangers on the beach._

“Are you _asking_?” Clarke asks, smiling.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” says Lexa, playing along. “Do you have plans?”

“I’m kind of waiting on this girl to ask me out,” Clarke says. “But she’s being _unbelievably_ slow.”

“Oh?” Lexa arches her brow. “Well, then. Poor girl, because you’re about to have _plans._ ”

“And those plans are?”

“Drinks on the beach with me. If you’re inclined.”

Clarke laughs. “As long as you’re paying,” she says.

“If I’m paying, I’m getting you drunk.”

Clarke bites down on her lip, opening the menu – hoping perhaps to hide the blush on her face. _Too late,_ Lexa thinks, looking at her menu in kind. Clarke is lovely, flustered like this; it makes Lexa want to fluster her _all night_.

“Promises, promises,” Clarke just says. And then, glancing down at the menu, “See anything you like?”

 _Oh, I see plenty._ “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she just says.

*

Lexa asks for a table setup by the shore, and her favorite servers help her along, lifting a table from the lobby to the sand.

“Have you bought this hotel while no one was looking?” asks Clarke.

Lexa shrugs. “I can’t help that I’m charming,” she says, smiling as she pulls Clarke’s chair out for her. “What are we starting off with? Wine? Whiskey?”

“I haven’t had whiskey in a while,” says Clarke. “Though I’m afraid this drinking session would be short-lived if we immediately hit that.”

“Agreed. Slow then. Wine?”

“This feels like a date,” Clarke says lightly. And then, perhaps noticing how Lexa stills at that: “I was kidding, Lex.”

 _Not that taking me to a secluded island and stuffing me with the world’s sweetest mangoes didn’t feel like a date._ “So what if it feels like a date?” she says back, trying to calm her heart. “We’re on a beautiful beach, and there’s wine coming. Might as well make a night of it.”

“Careful what you wish for,” says Clarke, voice smooth, like velvet. Lexa leans in closer, hand hanging upon the table’s edge.

“And what are _you_ wishing for?” asks Lexa, inhaling as Clarke covers her hand with hers.

Clarke takes a moment before saying: “Tabula rasa.” And then: “Like I’ve said, let’s make all of it up. Start from scratch. None of it leaves this island, anyway.” Lexa breathes in; the night smells of possibilities. “How much longer are you staying?”

 _Just long enough to give this thing a proper ending_. “As long as it takes,” says Lexa, swallowing hard. “As long as you’ll let me.”

The wine arrives, and Clarke pours for two.

“You’re still married,” says Lexa, fingertips around her wine glass.

“We’re on a break.”

“Just a break.”

“He’s not here.”

“And I am.”

“And _we_ are.”

Clarke lifts her glass in a toast; Lexa raises hers in kind and clinks the edge of her glass against Clarke’s, the sound echoing over the waves. “To the memory of this night,” Clarke says before drinking.

“To remembering,” Lexa replies.

*

The night wears on. Halfway through the bottle of wine, Clarke starts talking about her art – how little time she’s had for personal projects; how stressful it has been, to have to be _creative on demand_.

“But this island life seems to be… _conducive_ to art. Isn’t it, at all?” Lexa asks.

Clarke sits back, half-filled glass in hand. “It was, at first,” she says. “But then when you stay for too long, it dulls your senses.” She pauses before continuing: “I think I stopped painting sunsets after three days.”

Lexa remembers how there used to be a time that Clarke did nothing else but paint sunsets day after day; each one turned out differently, the way each sunset was unique. “Why?”

“It got repetitive,” says Clarke. “Then I got busy. Sucks the creative juice out of _everything_.”

“You say that like you hate your job,” says Lexa, though not unkindly. “Your _job,_ which, by the way, was the one thing that brought you to _this_ island.”

Clarke laughs, nodding as she drinks up, emptying her glass. She tilts her head at Lexa, like she’s signaling for more. Lexa complies, noting with slight satisfaction that they’re almost through with this one. “I don’t _hate_ it,” she clarifies. “But I suppose I could say I love it less.”

“Less than what?”

“Less than how I used to love it when it was _new_ ,” says Clarke, and there it is again, that subtle tightening in Lexa’s chest. _Remember how things end? They get old and weary._ Lexa shakes it off. _Not tonight._

“Don’t we just love the new and shiny?” Lexa says, pouring herself a fresh glass. Just like that, the wine is done, and she’s motioning for the server to come by. “Any requests?”

“I thought we were doing wine and whiskey?”

Lexa smirks. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I am _definitely_ not yet drunk, so…”

Lexa rolls her eyes, handing the empty bottle to the server. “The lady likes some whiskey now,” she tells him. When Clarke laughs, she sounds so _young_ , and Lexa feels her chest shifting.

*

By the fourth shot, Clarke gets unmistakably more affectionate – she keeps touching Lexa’s arm and face, grabbing onto Lexa’s wrist while telling her pretty spirited stories. Lexa tries not to mind; it only burns until Lexa’s had just enough whiskey in her system, anyway. They talk about work, mostly; Lexa talks about going out-of-town on her conferences, while Clarke talks about their most difficult clients and redesigns.

“All these things on my plate,” Clarke says, exasperated. “Who has time for _personal_ art, right?”

“Right,” Lexa says, chuckling into her drink. “But seriously, Clarke. It’s such a waste of talent. Go on refresher workshops, or something. _Hire_ a nude model. Bet you could afford a really good one with all that money.”

Clarke laughs at that. “That’s actually a good suggestion,” she says. “How much would you charge?”

Lexa bites down on her lip, feeling a blush creep up her neck. “I wasn’t—”

“No, I want to paint _you_. With your clothes off.”

Lexa pours herself another shot. _I’m too sober for this conversation._ “Well. That’s very forward of you, Clarke.”

Clarke laughs, drunk. “Bullshit,” she says. “We were together five years. Certainly, I must have done something similar when we were together.”

Lexa finds herself blushing at the memory: Clarke hunched over her canvas, staring at her, splayed on their mattress, her limbs angled. Lexa reaches for another shot. “And you remember none of that?” she asks. _Since we’re on the topic, and perhaps we’re just drunk enough to be brave._ “Made sure the guys got those out of your head, huh,” she says lightly.

“Yeah, they made sure.” Clarke rubs at her forehead and groans. “God, I can’t even remember how you look like _naked_ ,” she sighs, letting her eyes rake over Lexa for a bit. “ _Five years._ How is that even possible at all?”

Lexa feels a twinge of regret. If there was one thing she wishes Clarke still remembered, it’s her younger body – supple and lithe and _lean_. “This body isn’t what it used to be,” she just says, a wan smile on her face. “Makes me wish you remember the old one.”

Clarke stares at her for a long moment, before reaching for the bottle of whiskey herself, pulling straight from the mouth. Lexa’s lips go dry at the sight. When Clarke swallows, she wipes her lips with the back of her hand. “Show me, then,” she’s saying, lowering the almost-empty bottle back on the table.

“You’re drunk, Clarke.”

Clarke lets out a huff; like she’s challenging Lexa’s observation. Instead, she tries to get to her wobbly feet, hand braced against her edge of the table. _What are you doing, Clarke?_ Lexa just sits there, watching as Clarke moves from her seat toward Lexa, setting a hand upon Lexa’s shoulder.

_What are you doing, Clarke?_

Even when it happens in incredibly slow motion, Lexa doesn’t have it in her to move away as Clarke leans in, the attempt impossible to misread: Clarke is going to kiss her. Lexa stays put, even as she thinks about how this is wrong; she receives the kiss anyway, melting against Clarke’s mouth.

Clarke tastes like wine, like whiskey, like mangoes; like sunsets and sand and long naps by the shore. Lexa feels her arms come up to surround Clarke as she sinks onto Lexa’s lap. _Easy like this. Two strangers on the beach._ With her eyes closed, she can feel Clarke’s hands threading into her hair and cupping her face, before tracing her shoulders and going down, down.

When Clarke’s warm hands start fumbling with the drawstring of Lexa’s pants, Lexa breaks the kiss herself.

“Wait.”

Clarke stares at her, eyes half-lidded with want. The word that tumbles out of her lips is, “ _Please_.” Lexa tightens her grip around Clarke’s waist, keeping her in place.

“Not here,” says Lexa. She whispers it against Clarke’s ear, before nipping at the space just below. She could feel Clarke’s pulse race under the skin there, throbbing against her lips. “ _Clarke._ ”

Clarke shivers in her lap. _It’s the breeze,_ Lexa tries to think. _It’s nothing, just the wind._ Yet she knows in her bones this is not true.

“Show me,” Clarke says, her voice breaking. “Show me because _I don’t remember._ ”

*

Their first time in this new lifetime happens in Lexa’s room.

They keep kissing on the beach until Clarke gets dizzy with the taste of her; until Lexa has to carry her from their table to her bed. Lexa’s mind is wrapped warmly in whiskey – to a degree it helps, because it keeps her from thinking, at least for just the night. Like this, she is helpless in Clarke’s hands, shaky as they were in untangling Lexa’s strings.

“Why is everything about you _complicated_ ,” Clarke slurs, giggling as the knots of Lexa’s swimsuit get tangled in their joint struggle to untie them.

Lexa sighs as she shrugs out of them, tossing them to the floor. “So _impatient,_ ” she teases, making quick work of Clarke’s sundress and pulling it over her head in one smooth move. “See?”

Clarke smirks, adjusting herself on Lexa’s lap. They pause as if they’re only realizing now where they are – on Lexa’s bed, in the dark. The breeze comes in through the open window, ruffling the curtains, and Clarke finds herself shivering into Lexa’s arms.

“Well?” Clarke says, kissing Lexa’s clavicle. “What do we do now?”

Lexa runs her hands up and down Clarke’s side, reveling at how responsive Clarke’s body is, twitching with every scratch. “Whatever we want,” she says, pressing her lips against Clarke’s shoulder.

“And that is?” Clarke shifts to her knees, lifting herself slightly off Lexa’s lap – like she’s making _room,_ and Lexa feels her breath hitch at that. Lexa lets her hands stray under the waistband of Clarke’s underwear, kneading lazily at the skin she finds there.

Clarke’s hips start moving as she stares into Lexa’s eyes, her lips parted. “What do you want, Lex?”

Lexa swallows hard. In the dark, Clarke’s eyes twinkle like stars. “ _Everything._ ”

*

It feels like days; like years.

*

In Clarke’s room, days later, they fuck in the daylight, surrounded by Clarke’s abandoned paintings.

“Nothing’s good enough,” Clarke says as they’re undressing, off the question in Lexa’s eyes. She steps closer and covers Lexa’s hands with hers, helping her with her buttons, smoothing her hand over a breast. “Now, I think I know why.”

Lexa finds herself smiling. “Now, you’re just saying that to get into my pants.”

Laughing, Clarke leans in, kissing the smirk off Lexa’s face and letting her hands travel lower, lower. “ _Later,_ maybe?” Clarke says, biting down. Lexa shivers at the feel of Clarke’s fingers expertly untying the drawstring of her shorts; now she manages through the strings, even with her eyes closed. _All familiar terrain,_ Lexa thinks idly, gasping as Clarke manages to dip into her, quick and light.

“ _Clarke._ ”

“Hmm?”

Lexa pulls Clarke toward the bed, her hand trapped inside Lexa’s shorts; Lexa’s fingers gripping Clarke’s shirt. “Not later. _Now._ ”

*

“How much longer?”

“Just a bit.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past ten minutes.”

Clarke looks up from her canvas, brush in the air. “I’m sorry I’m out of _practice,_ ” she says, sticking her tongue out. “Besides – it’s your fault you chose this particularly difficult pose.”

“I woke up like this,” says Lexa. “Also, if this is the _only_ painting you’ll finish, it might as well be challenging.”

“Hah,” Clarke huffs. “Just for that I’m drawing you _extra_ slowly.”

“You sure _you_ want to go slow?” asks Lexa. “Because when _I_ go slow…”

Clarke groans, dropping her brush into a half-filled glass of water. She wipes her hands onto a nearby rag before crawling onto the bed right beside Lexa. “ _Jesus._ This is why I never finish anything.”

“Don’t blame me,” Lexa says, smirking as lifts up to kiss Clarke quickly. “I’m just the model.” Clarke slides lower, kissing down Lexa’s throat. Her chest. Her navel. Lexa breathes in, a half-moan. “If you keep doing that, I’ll definitely lose my pose,” she says.

Clarke trails lower, pressing a warm, wet kiss against the inside of Lexa’s thigh.

 _“Clarke.”_ Lexa already shifts, and just like that, she has moved, the pose broken. “Your _painting._ ”

“It doesn’t matter,” Clarke whispers, moving her lips upward. “I’ll paint the rest from memory. I remember _everything_.”

 *

The days and nights bleed into each other.

*

Some nights, Clarke likes it drawn out – Lexa stays with her for what feels like _hours,_ swiping at her with her tongue, taking her to the edge and easing her off it, again and again, until it gets unbearable. Lexa knows Clarke’s stages by taste – Clarke’s need is sharp and almost spicy, it actually _burns_ ; the closer she gets, the hotter it feels on the surface, and Lexa knows just when to press just a little harder so it _breaks_.  

“ _God,_ ” Clarke says later in the dark, her head on Lexa’s chest. “The colors _you_ make me see.” It makes Lexa all smug, her chest filling with satisfaction. “It’s like my palettes are not enough for all the paintings I want to do, just because you make me _feel._ ”

Lexa gathers her closer, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. Since starting here, Clarke has finished three paintings, all of Lexa; Lexa has to wonder how she’s going to keep all of that.

After all, she _is_ still married.

 _Not tonight,_ Lexa reminds herself. Right then, it feels like they still have all the time in the world, but at the core of it, she knows time is doing exactly what it does best.

_Running out._

*

Lexa tries to hide it at first, the way the subtle messages have been coming to her. _When are you coming back?_ her colleagues ask. _Surely, you can’t be gone for more than two months._

Lexa touches her forehead gingerly. _Christ, has it really been that long?_

“You look bothered,” Clarke says from behind her canvas. Just when Lexa thought she isn’t looking, Clarke says the most perceptive thing. “What’s on your mind?”

Lexa sighs. “It’s nothing.”

“Clearly, when you have to say it like that, it must be _something._ ” Clarke tilts her head to look at her, taking a break from her painting. “Come on.”

Lexa shakes her head, looking away. “It’s work.”

“Reality comes checking?”

“Something like that.”

“Ah.” Clarke returns to her canvas, whistling softly. “Here’s where the story ends.”

Lexa looks up at that, pushing herself off the bed and walking toward Clarke. “Don’t say that.”

“None of this leaves the island, remember?” says Clarke, calmly mixing color on the side. “I was under no illusion that this was going to be anything but temporary.”

“Clarke.”

“This is how it is with me,” Clarke says. “And this is how it is with you. I _know_.” The way she says it – so soft, like surrender. Lexa’s heart breaks; it feels exactly like that first time.

 _No endings. Only cycles._ Lexa stares at Clarke’s paint-stained hands. _End one painting to begin a new one._ She looks around, eyeing Clarke’s paintings of her – greens and blues and purples and oranges, all the hues of all the sunsets they’ve ever seen on this island in one messy blur.

“Clarke.” Lexa moves for her, cupping her face and kissing her. It starts out gentle before escalating quickly, all need and teeth and tongue. Clarke stands, backing Lexa into the bed.

 _This,_ Lexa thinks, nails raking across Clarke’s torso, hard enough to draw blood; she trembles under Lexa’s hands.

_Remember this._

*

On the plane, much later, Lexa stares out onto the clouds and contemplates writing Clarke another letter. After all, they had not said goodbye – Clarke’s request, actually, which Lexa only tried to honor – though sitting right here at 39,000 feet, Lexa thinks she should have at least tried.

 _Failing that,_ Lexa thinks, flexing her hand around this pen for the nth time. _We have this._ Lexa thinks about Clarke’s address on her official letterhead, sitting inside her wallet. _Has it really been a couple of months since I received that note with the flowers?_ Lexa tries to blink away the tears.

Below her, she sees the bright blue ocean as the plane starts coasting across the water. _Perhaps, another time, we’ll meet again on one small island._

_Easy like that. Two strangers on the beach._

Lexa drops her pen back onto the table and sits back with her eyes closed.

She has hours and hours to spare.

*

_Dearest Clarke,_

_I do not know why I keep leaving._

_Perhaps I only do so I could keep coming back._

_There are no endings. Please remember me._

_Yours always,_

_#_


End file.
